


A Strange and Forbidden Garden

by ChangHenGe



Category: EastEnders
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangHenGe/pseuds/ChangHenGe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 'Superman'. Syed promises to stay the whole night if Christian can leave the flat. Here is his reward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

My breath is coming only in gasps and gulps, my heart pounding to a new, frighteningly fast rhythm, droplets of perspiration falling down my body and gathering in pools at the base of my spine. I am pressed so hard against the wooden door that I can feel its grain impressed on my back, but there is no way my weakened legs can support my weight. My knuckles are blanched white as I grip the bag of sugar so hard I fear the contents will soon fall onto the floor. I glance around, hoping to orient myself, but nothing seems right, my vision is blurred and the familiar surroundings are suddenly anything but. Shutting my eyes again I seek refuge in the darkness and try to think of what Syed told me, the stuff he found. _Concentrate on your breathing first_. I hear Syed's calming voice in my ear. I feel his hand on my arm. _Relax, take your time. There's no rush._ And slowly my breathing steadies and with it my taut muscles begin to relax. This time when I force my eyes open I see my flat properly. My flat, my sanctuary, my prison. I look around and no longer feel safe. I want to leave but taking those steps outside just fills me with a senseless terror. I love living in a city, love the noise, the hustle bustle, the excitement of it all, but just now, outside, I felt like my lungs were collapsing in on me. The noise, the fumes, the people, all crowding me, smothering me. I hate this. This isn't me. This isn't Christian Clarke. I want me back.

It caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting it. The last time it happened I spent a few days moping around, complaining to friends about the uselessness of the police, got drunk and got over it. One of those things. Pulled some other bloke a week later, invited him back without even a second thought. But this time it's different. Don't know why I'm surprised really. Since I met him everything has been different so why shouldn't this? I tried to pretend at first. Told myself that I didn't _need_ to go out, I quite fancied eating pasta and….well whatever that random stuff was at the back of the cupboard. I had all those DVDs that I hadn't got round to watching. I was just taking a bit of a break, having a bit of 'me time'. Plus I had Syed coming round. It made a change just to be able to talk, without worrying about other people or work or whatever. For a couple of days I think I nearly believed it. That I could leave any time I wanted. Syed, well, I guess he has a better understanding of denial than most people.

Then it struck me harder and I couldn't pretend.

* * *

I woke. But didn't feel awake.I felt like my body was detached from me and my brain was too slow to function. I thought about having a shower but it took 20 minutes to be able to move. Once I got to the bathroom I stared at my face in the mirror, looking at the cuts and bruises. I couldn't see me. I could only see those empty angry eyes as he punched me. My stomach filled with bile and I barely reached the toilet in time, retching and crying. I curled in a heap on the floor and sat there, motionless, thoughtless, helpless. I was there for minutes, hours? I don't know. Until the buzzing of the intercom startled me from my catatonic state. Shuddering I attempted to ignore its shrill intrusion into my inner retreat but it kept on and on. When it finally quietened I bit my lip, wondering, fearing, who was on the other side of the door. My mobile rang, the vibrations resonating through the bedside table. I waited. It stopped. My flat phone rang and I waited for the answerphone to kick in. My own voice spoke, filling the flat with a confidence and sureness that seemed to be purposefully mocking me.

"Christian…..it's me. Syed. I'm outside. I thought….you said… Yesterday you said I could come round for lunch. Could you let me in?" His voice woke something in me and brought my leaden limbs to life. For a split second I had imagined staying here, remaining in my safe space where no-one could touch me, but the thought of not seeing him shook me more than I wanted to admit and before I had the chance to tell myself otherwise I had buzzed him in. I hadn't realised until then how much I relished seeing him every day. Working side by side, chatting about inconsequential matters, or just in companionable silence. The unexpected friendship that I never imagined is now the one thing I am craving more than anything else.

Syed entered the flat, his gorgeous smile faltering when he registered my dressing gown and unshaven face. I saw his thoughts filter onto his face, and I turned round to avoid seeing sympathy or even worse, pity.

"Shall I pop the kettle on?" To my relief, he merely moved to the kitchen, pulling cups from the cupboards with an unexpected but very pleasant sense of familiarity. Even from the sofa I sensed his movements halt, and I realised he was face to face with the evidence of my recent retreat from the rest of Walford. "Christian?" I turned round, cautiously, wondering what he would say. "I think you're out of milk….How about I go to the Minute Mart, get some more. And something for lunch." I continued to avoid his eyes. "And if you lend me your keys then I won't have to buzz to get back in." I grabbed the spare set and passed them to him, finally daring to meet his gaze. He knew. And he looked at me, not with pity or shame, but with a tenderness that nearly made me cry. He took the keys, left and I slumped on the sofa.

* * *

And since then, he came every day, my knight in tight t-shirts. Letting himself in, restocking my shelves, talking, caring, kissing, occupying my space in the most pleasant way possible. Until today he had avoided raising the most obvious issue, just quietly trying to fix things behind the scenes. Until today when he decided to push me, to orce me to confront my fears by offering me the most tempting of rewards. I am more grateful to him than he will ever know but yet... That brief trip has awoken some unpleasant thoughts that I usually tried to repress and suddenly my senses are overwhelmed by unwanted visions, the calmness of my flat transformed by someone else's hate. I slam the sugar down onto the kitchen counter and force other, better, images to replace them.

 _The bitter, rank smell of alcohol, panting over me as I lie grounded_ ….No, cumin. Earthy, deep, cumin, my favourite spice, the one that dominates the Masala unit. Fresh coriander, fragrant, tangy, irresistible, the scent that lingers at the end of every working day. An empty kitchen, pots and pans crashing around but the smell of cumin and coriander still in the air as he enters, still filling my nose as he looks at me, the last scent I sense before his lips press tentatively onto mine. Paint, cheap acrylic paint on an old painting, the smell of teasing or provocation or both or nothing or more so much more. My shower gel, a familiar smell in an unfamiliar setting, my nerves tingling as stands in front of me, a towel round his waist, droplets of water edging their tempting journey over his stomach, his scent occupying my every cell as lean into his neck and inhale.

 _Metallic tang filling my mouth, the taste of blood overwhelming the peaty malt from before, the last thing I remember_ ….No, him. The tangy sweet taste at the back of his mouth, the taste that left me wanting more before the first kiss was even over. Warmth, the taste of summer, my tongue working its way down his body, my tongue desperate to leave no inch uncovered. The taste of his cock, filling my mouth, his come hitting the back of my throat. His sweat, salty, enticing, dripping into my mouth the first time he gave himself to me in my bed.

 _Fist, knuckles, cracking into my jaw, my cheek, my eyes. The feeling of the floor rising to slam against my head_ ….No, fingers. His fingers stroking my hair, curving round my ears, smoothing down my neck. Me touching his face, the pinpricks of his stubble sending electrical pulses around my body, increasing my desperation for him. His lips, pressing onto mine, so so soft, working their way gently down my body, hesitantly, then passionately, cravenly, wantonly. His tongue licking me, rolling around my balls, flicking quickly across the head, slowly grazing down the length. My fingers stroking his hair, gripping the locks tighter, feeling the thick waves tickle my palms.

 _A look of disgust, loathing, revulsion. Hatred. Pure hatred, chilling my spine_ …..No, his eyes. Dark depths of desire within, staring at me when he thinks I'm not looking, when he knows I am, when he wishes he wouldn't, when he can't help but to, when he needs to, when he wants to. Lust, pupils dilating as he looks at my naked body, watches my hand work at his. Tenderness, looking over my bruises, caressing the damaged skin with his eyes. Happiness, satisfaction, delight, fear, all displayed for me, all because of me.

 _Angry, hatefilled words echoing in my ears as I lie, bitter sounds, Scum, Sick, Disgusting_ …..No, _gotcha_. The sweetest of laughs, the happiness of friendship found in unexpected places. _Okay_ , the tentative agreement to return, to relive the beauty that we found, to take it all further. _Christian_ , the way he says my name, like no-one else ever has, rolling it round his tongue like it is something special, like I mean something to him, something more than we can find the words for. _Yes_ , his sighs and moans when I kiss him, when I stroke him. _Oh_ , the sweet gasp when I take him in my mouth. _Please_ , the sound of cries and pleas when I fuck him. _Superman_. _I think you're superman_. Shit.

How can he still think that? How could it be possible, now he's seen me beaten down, petrified of my own shadow, lost? Well he can't think it anymore, after watching me run in fear across the square, jumping at the slightest touch. He can't….can he? I want him to want me, I want him to look at me the way he does when he is teetering on the edge, the desire coming off him in waves, the electricity shooting between us. I fear his pity, his sweet kindness has left me nearly in tears sometimes, but it scares me still, to be so weak in front of him. But yet….. _I'll spend the night…..the whole night_. The memory of his words bring a genuine smile to my face, the thought of our shared bodies all night, waking to see his face in calm repose, not fearfully running away from me, from us. I've never been so excited about sleep before, but meeting Syed has done this to me, made me grateful for things I took for granted so many times before.

My mind is awash with emotions and desires. I want to make this evening, this _night_ , fantastic. Take us both away from the reality of my isolation, make it just about us. Syed Masood and Christian Clarke.

I'd better get ready.


	2. Chapter 2

**Syed's POV**

My friend Chris. _Chris_. I mentally roll my eyes at myself for being so being so pathetic at lying. But neither Amira nor Mum don't seem to have noticed anything, Amira just wanting my truthful reassurances that I am not interested in another woman and I am relieved that there is at least some truth that I can find. At this point, watching my family all together preparing for Ramadam, Amira fitting in like I never thought she would just a few months ago, at this point I feel guilt edging up through my body. But before it has a chance to take over, I am instead overcome by images of Christian making his way outside, his fears so clearly written on his face but going out nonetheless. I feel a rush of pride and care overwhelming all other feelings, and I just want to run to him right now. The sense of longing overwhelms me, as it has done for so long, the longing that keeps dragging me back to him again and again no matter how many times I swear that I can never return. I need to see him and show him how proud I am of him. I can't tell him, I know his pride will kick in, but I can show him. The anticipation shudders through my body and I have to bite my lip and look away for a second. I don't know what it is, this urgent need and longing for him, the way he occupies my mind at all times, the way I can't taste a dish or put on a new shirt or hear a joke or even see a stupid seagull without wanting to turn to him, talk to him, laugh with him. And the desperate desire that runs wild through my body at just the thought of him, like earlier today, showering before getting changed for this meal. My mind had started wandering to this evening, to what might lay ahead when I returned to his flat and then unsummoned but oh so welcome images invaded the sanctity of the room, until I could almost see him there too, a sight not yet captured by my eyes but a frequent visitor to my mind. The water cascading down his chest, the droplets forming on his arms, his head tilted back to allow the water freedom to explore his body at will, and I am gone. The water that should cleanse and purify is instead the instigator of further sins. I shake my head to try to rid myself of such unhelpful images right now, trying instead to pay attention to the family scene in front of me.

"Syed? You look miles away." My Dad's voice cuts through my pretence.

"Just a bit tired." I lie, feeling the lie even more keenly as the electricity shooting through my veins is exhilarating me rather than exhausting me.

"Are you okay babe? You've been so tired recently, I think you're working too hard." I see my mum shoot daggers at Amira for any implied criticism of her work scheduling at Masala Queen, but Amira continues undeterred. "I mean you even fell asleep in the middle of the film we were watching last week." I redden, I can hardly tell her that that was the third film I had sat down to watch that day, but the only one that I have no memories associated with, nothing good, nothing bad, just nothing. That as I drifted off to sleep, my only thoughts were of a more comfortable sofa, a more entertaining film, a more intoxicating occasion.

* * *

"Well what did you think?" Christian turned to me as the final credits ran, our bodies entwined on the sofa, his hands playing idly in my hair.

"I liked it, it was better than I expected." I turned slightly to face him full on and smiled. "I must admit, I was surprised you went for a foreign film." I teased, laughing at the look of mock hurt on his face.

"I can read subtitles y'know. I'm not just a pretty face."

"I know." I grinned, my eyes dropping below his lips to focus heavily and obviously on the muscled chest draped in smooth black cotton, and on the long long legs encased temptingly in tight denim. "You are so much more than a pretty _face_."

He laughs, a sound that thrilled me as it spoke of someone who is free from worries. This was all I had been aiming for these past few weeks. I just want him to be happy. Much as I have enjoyed and relished spending time with him in his flat, I can't bear the idea of him alone in here. I hate the idea of him retreating. He's like the sun, he should be out in the world, showing his lustre to all, not forced by fear to hide away in the perpetual gloom. I want him to shine.

"So university boy," he taunted back. "What's your choice? Something terribly cerebral then? That Italian one, 9 ½ weeks? Shit no, that's the Mickey Rourke and the fridge one isn't it? Little Sizzling Hot Belly. Nah, that's Hotshots, ooh I remember 8 ½. That's it the one by Felli-thingamajobby."

I laughed at his Dumb Cockney act, he's far smarter than most give him credit for. "Fellini? No, not that." I couldn't take the smile off my face, it felt like forever since I heard him just talking rubbish with me. Happy rambling contented rubbish, with his hands twisting locks of my hair round his fingers and his eyes full of mischief and delight again. I felt a sudden ache in my stomach, a sharp pang that made me catch my breath as I recognise my yearning. The desire that normally I try to ignore, the yearning to be the one who can make him look like that, who can take him away from the pain that had previously cast darkened shadows over his normally bright laughing eyes. "I have chosen, for our delectation tonight, an American classic."

"Ooooh….something black and white? Old Hollywood? Fred Astaire turning on the style. Fabulous."

"Erm, not that classic. 80s."

"Oh I see, a classic for the kids." He nodded patronisingly at me but my rolled eyes and indignant-but-gentle push at his shoulder failed to disguise the bubbles of happiness that continued to surge through me. When Christian hits his 'patronising the youngster' routine, then I know he is feeling better. Tiring of our game, he leant forward and grabbed the box from my hands. "Ah, I see, Stand By Me. I'll let you off, good choice, haven't seen it in years."

"It's my favourite film." I confessed, as I felt my cheeks redden at the edges. I'm not sure why, it just felt like I was opening up more than I had ever meant to. It's been so long since I had a really good friend, the kind who you feel you can and want to share everything with. To be honest, I don't know if I ever really have had before. But Christian has bared his vulnerability to me in far more serious ways than merely sharing favourite films, and I want to be more open to him. I want to talk with him, share with him. I leant back into his body, his hands having moved from my hair to rest over my own, our fingers lacing themselves together. I marvel at their fit, at the blending of colour. His lips press soft kisses into my scalp, wordlessly telling me that he is listening if I want to speak. "I saw it first when I was thirteen. There was some big thing on with Dad's family, Uncle Inzaman's 40th or something. Anyway I had the flu and couldn't go. Mum said she wanted to stay at home and take care of me, feed me soup, check my temperature every 5 minutes, that sort of thing, but Dad insisted she had to go to the party, that I'd be fine at home on my own. It's weird, I think it was the first time I had ever been home by myself in the evening. The house seemed suddenly really big and far too quiet without the constant sounds of Mum yelling at Dad, Shabs screeching at Tambo. I guess I was feeling a bit off cos of the flu too, so I sat on the sofa with the TV for company. And then this film came on. I don't know, maybe it was because of being ill or because I was home alone or what, but it felt like more than just some film. It felt like it was mine, like one of the first things I've had that really belonged to me. I cried loads at the end, crying partly because it had ended, and I was back at home. I kept singing the song in my head for days afterwards too. Even now if I hear it…" I trailed off embarrassed and we sat in silence for a while. "Sorry." I muttered "I'm boring you, just rambling on about the past."

"No, not at all." Christian's hands moved up to my chin, and turned my head back round to his. "It's lovely." I looked into his eyes, seeing my reflection resting there, the darkness of his pupils staring back at me with longing intensity. I reached across to graze my lips onto his and he responded eagerly, his body moving under mine to seek heat and friction with my willing flesh. "I know you just liked it cos you fancied River Phoenix," he murmurs into my ear. I blushed hotly, remembering teenage dreams that I had tried to forget in the morning but could never quite dismiss. And then sneaking into Shabnam's room to thumb guiltily through her stash of teenage magazines, unknowingly yet knowingly searching, wanting, despairing. "Fair enough," he continued, his teeth capturing my earlobe and tugging gently, a smile still playing on his lips, "he did grow up to be pretty gorgeous." My head sinks into the blissful haven at the nape of his neck, feeling his pulse with my tongue as my face hid from his knowing eyes. "But not half as gorgeous as you." And he reached for my head, his strong hands holding it firm so I cannot escape. As I felt his heart pound through the thin material that separates us, I lowered my forehead to rest on his, barely a breath between our parted lips. "You are y'know," he breathed, " _gorgeous._ " The sincerity and feeling in his eyes made me feel dizzy, so I plundered his mouth in search for the kind of desire that I knew how to deal with.

* * *

We watched the film afterwards, our breathing returning to normal, our perspiration cooling as we lay together on the sofa, the steady beat of his heart a constant backdrop to the soundtrack on the film. That was a totally new experience, my private solace suddenly opened and exposed, and I had secretly feared that the enjoyment would be lessened by the additional attention, that this sanctuary of my soul would be lost. But instead, watching whilst still covered by newly found duvet, blissful afterglow and strong caring arms served not as an intrusion, but rather magnified my pleasure and made me feel as though I was watching it all for the first time. And throughout this I could hear the echo of Christian's words in my mind, calling me gorgeous.

My mum used to comment on my 'good looks' saying I could get any nice girl I wanted, and there were more than a few girls at school and uni, both 'nice' and 'not-so-nice', who made it clear they supported her biased opinion. I know full well that Amira wouldn't have looked twice at me at the start were I unable to provide her with a more than adequate appearance on her arm. And as for those men, whose faces I soon forgot but whose bodies I long recalled much to my chagrin, for a momentary lapse into sin may be forgiven, but if repenting for the body comes hand in hand with late night deliberate trespasses of the mind then it must surely be unforgivable, well those men murmured and flirted and cried and leered appreciation of my pulchritude in a way that thrilled me then but greater shamed me later. But all of these wanted and unwanted blandishments rang hollow, coming from those who didn't know me, those who have no desire to know me, and those who think they know every thought that enters my head and the reason for every beat that my heart misses, yet have no inkling not only of that which I keep from them but that any such transgressions even exist. But when he says it, when he whispers words in my ears that I pretend later are mere platitudes, then it is different. Honesty seeps from every syllable, like they are simple unashamed facts and my heart sings. There is so much he doesn't know of me, but he has come the nearest, the absolute nearest to knowing me, to really knowing me, and what is more, unlike just about anyone that I have ever met, he actually wants to know. He probes and asks and sends my carefully arranged façade of lies tumbling to the floor. He has seen more of me than anyone else has in only a few short months, and been hurt by me more than I would ever wish to do, and yet, yet he still opens his arms to me and calls me gorgeous.

He scares me. I want him. I want him to see more of me, I want to expose all I am to his unnerving gaze. I want to hide. I want to resist. I want to be able to walk away. I want never to leave his arms. I glance around the table in front of me, where the family I love and the woman I have promised to marry laugh at jokes I understand and talk of a past I share. It's nice and warm and something I feared I had lost forever. So why does it seem dimmer and quieter than a flat lit only by the glow of the TV, silent except for distant actor's voices and the almost imperceptible hum of calm breathing by my ear. Why does my skin shiver at the memory of delicate touches on prone bodies, touches that speak of comfort and friendship and care and…. I'm scared. Of him, of me, of us. No one person should ever has this much power. I can resist I tell myself sternly, I'm used to self-denial and self-control, it has been drummed into me since childhood, and now most of all I need to return fully to it. I shall resist from him completely, until Ramadan is complete. A month of abstinence because I can, because I should, because I need to. Small voices wonder if his interest could possible remain after such a period, and shouldn't such a possibility please my conscience rather than paralyse me with chilling fear. But I hush myself, and instinctively find solace in the way he looked earlier, his bravery and my pride, and I look down at the table to hide my smile.

Tonight, I tell myself, tonight will be the one last night where we can forget everything else, where my guilt and his fear and the rest of the world can be relegated, where nothing else matters but the two of us. Christian Clarke and Syed Masood.

I check my watch. I'd better go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Syed's POV**

I make my excuses and hurry out of the restaurant, blaming the crapness of the tube, the long trek across town, anything to get me over to his sooner. As I walk across the square, eyes set low to avoid accidentally catching anyone's attention, I reach into my pocket to text him and say I am on my way, but before my fingers hit the buttons I change my mind and decide to just turn up instead. Visions of catching him unawares send my pulse soaring, the idea of just letting myself into his flat, as if I belonged there, makes me dizzy as thoughts that I must never allow myself to indulge in try to force their way into my mind. I remind myself sternly that I cannot do this after tonight, that I must tell him this immediately, I must. My feet keep trying to break into a run, I cannot get there fast enough, as remembered pleasure mixes with desire laced anticipation. Christian's spare key digs into my skin through the thin fabric of my pocket, the sharp pain only serving to further the exhilaration that runs through my veins until finally I reach the door. Shaking hands open the lock and I run up the stairs, my feet echoing the beat of my heart as I leap up with more energy than I have felt for such a long time.

As I swing the door to the flat open, I halt. A slight acrid smell and the faint glowing flicker in the corner is all I sense as my eyes adjust to the darkness. Music quietly playing but it seems that the only sound I can hear is the thumping of the blood rushing through my body. A pace and he is in front of me, leaning across my body to push the door behind me shut. Even without his touch my nerves leap and my skin tingles.

"You're early" he smiles, reaching over to brush the hair from out of my eyes, his fingertips softly grazing down my face and resting at my neck before returning to his side. I feel their absence immediately.

I look at him, and all planned words fall out of my mind. I look at him, dressed differently from how I have seen him recently. He has dressed up, crisp white shirt, tight black trousers, I have seen it before yet it looks different from before, from the way he presents himself outside. His shirt is not quite buttoned to the top I notice, his cuffs undone, and half untucked from his trousers. I bite my lip as I feel my lust increase. There is something about him like this, with most of his beautiful body hidden from view, letting my imagination roam over what lies beneath. Those brief hints of his toned muscular body make my fingers twitch as I long to touch him, to remind myself of what I can never forget. I gulp as my eyes move up and linger over his stubble, a guilty pleasure. Guilty, for it signifies his still present struggle, but pleasure, as a frisson of excitement hits my already sensitised body with the memory of his rough stubble and smooth tongue alternating as they edged their way up my spine, along my back, in my neck. I look away for a second and the situation hits me deeper; his clothing, the music, the candles…All this for me, a small voice whispers and I struggle to ignore it. "Christian…" I begin, but I falter. Are there words for this? For the ache I feel, standing here with him. For the way I thought I was going _somewhere_ but ended up here instead, a land I never knew existed, a place I never wanted to find, and now cannot leave.

His fingers, long, lithe and gentle, turn my chin to him but release me again all too soon. "You look lovely." He speaks quietly and low, his voice eases over the music and fills my ache. "I wasn't expecting you for a bit, what with the big meal and all. I wasn't quite ready yet."

His sweetness makes me rest easier and I smile back. "I can leave if you want," I lie. My feet couldn't move from his floor, nor my eyes from his sight.

He moves even closer, but doesn't touch me. Yet even without his much needed touch there is no escaping his closeness; his warm breath heating my neck, the scent of him fresh from the shower overwhelming me. I shut my eyes and with it shut out all but him.

"Don't. You. Dare" He breathes, the words long, low, and heavy, lust dripping with every syllable. Yet he still doesn't touch me. "I missed you so much today." He continues with a change of tone, and my eyes reopen with a start, to connect with the green that follows me in my sleeping fantasies, that startles me from my waking pretence, that now compels a kind of unashamed but embarrassed honesty.

" I rushed here. I mean, I just, well. I wanted to see you."

And finally, finally he reaches for me and his proffered lips meet mine at last. I can't leave. I can't speak. But as I seek to further the kiss, to absorb his taste into my craven mouth, he pulls away. Slowly, steadily, he reaches to the buttons on his shirt, the crisp white fabric coming apart with ease and dragging my eyes to the expanse of his chest as it does so. I am caught, fixated, as the material drops to the floor, the clink of buttons hitting the wood followed shortly afterwards by the clatter of metal as his belt joins it, leaving him standing in front of me, naked, proud, gorgeous. Tensed muscles, smooth skin, glowing in the flickering light, and waiting for me. The bruises that used to mark his perfect skin are no longer visible, but I sense their presence even so.

I edge nearer but he halts my progress with a murmured _you_.

His eyes are fixed on me, widening in anticipation, and he stands stock still despite the flexing of the fingers by his side telling me that he is itching to move nearer, to rid me of my unwanted clothes himself. My senses are alert to every nerve that shakes, every movement that he longs to make and I smile to myself at this power that he so willingly gives to me. I begin to undress with slow, steady movements, savouring the glow in his eyes, telling myself that the warmth my skin feels comes from the flickering flames behind him, but my mind instead feels the heat that comes straight from his gaze. I stand before him, literally baring my all to him, more exposed than I have ever been before. In the past, passion and desire has led me to his bed and left me bare for his pleasure, but this deliberate act, in the quiet and the dimness, in the stillness when even his touch is found only in my fevered memory, is an act that asks me to give up even more of myself for him. And for _us_ , a faint whisper echoes before I can tell it to hush. My arm stretches out, our hands link, his thumb caressing over mine, and he pulls me to me, thankfully removing the gap between us.

He kisses me. Lips colliding with greed, desperate tongues finding solace in each other, fingers gripping hair, stroking along necks, nails marking backs sending shudders down spines, body seeking body seeking heat seeking friction seeking balm to sate their helpless need. I lose track of where his body ends and where mine begins, it is all taut muscles straining for more, all flesh caressed by longing fingers and tongues, all following the sequence of some wordless unlearnt dance, moving in unison for the intoxicating pleasure that unlike so much else becomes all the more desirable with every indulgence.

We stumble to the bed, moving together, no leading no pushing just falling back until we land, bare skin on soft sheets, our kisses stopping and starting without pause, an ever deepening and welcoming sanctuary of delight. I begin to feel loss, as Christian's body moves away from mine, our illusion of completeness briefly disturbed, but a firm hand pushes my suddenly cold body back into the mattress and before I have a chance to complain, the sweet sensation of tongues and teeth are nipping over my legs. I stare up at the ceiling, allowing the gentle moans to fall from my mouth as his fingers use their gentle strength to stroke my every aching muscle and throbbing sinew. I feel…. _worshipped_. No inch left untouched, no part of me forgotten. I feel my cells reawaken under his watchful gaze, finding a new desire under his purposeful caress. As he reaches the top of my thigh, his stubble grazes hard against my tender skin and I gasp. I know why he always craves this the most when I do it to him, the sharp rasp of unshaven skin followed by the soothing balm of his tongue, licking and lapping as I urge him further with moans and movement and incoherent pleas. And further he goes, swiping along my cock, teasing my balls gently, taking me fully in his mouth as I squeeze my eyes tight and grip hard on the sheets. But his teasing is not yet complete as he pulls away from me again, my desperate cry met only with sweet laughs that brush warm breath onto my sensitized skin. Another swipe of tongue on hot flesh and he moves further back, his tongue now probing, penetrating, pursuing my pleasure. My lungs empty of air, my head falls further back into the pillow, red sheets clenched between whitened knuckles.

"You like _that_." Christian pulls away briefly and chuckles happily into my skin. And then, with a quieter, gentler, more serious tone, "You do like this, don't you?"

"Yes" I gasp, helpless under the blissful torment he inflicts so willingly onto me. _Yes I do_. I think. _I like this, all of this so very very much. Far too much. But when did liking_ this _mean more than scratching an itch? When did it stop being sex and start being us? When did I stop wanting to run away as soon as my body's heat died down, and when did not wanting to run scare me more than the running ever did? Oh Christian please, tell me when liking_ this _become liking_ you. "Christian." I groan, my hands reaching for his head. I want him up here; I want to see him, to feel him. Kisses pressed against my stomach, chest, hollow of my neck as he returns to my side, pulling at me until I fall on top of him, laughing at the satisfied smirk that fills his gorgeous face.

And then. Familiar chords enter the room, music that speaks of loneliness and friendship, youth and hopefulness, feelings I don't understand and can't acknowledge. His hands reach to the sides of my face and smooth tangled strands of hair behind ears and into fingers' grasp. "I said you were too early" he whispers, his teeth lightly biting his lip with _nervousness_? A mass of feelings flood through my body and corkscrew into my heart as the full weight of what he had wanted to do for me, for us, hits me further. He listened. He listened and he remembered. And as he stares up at me, his eyes never leaving mine, I reach across to the side of the bed and move down, my hands preparing him, preparing me. My hands shaking with the increased anticipation given to me by the flicker of his glowing eyes in the candlelight.

He enters me and my eyes slam shut. The feel of him like this, where he fills me and pushes me as much as I can take it, causes bright lights to flash in the darkness behind my eyes. I wait, gripping him inside, waiting for my body to become accustomed, for my lungs to refill. I wait, my fists clenched, my nails imprinting on my flesh. The music plays. The candles shimmer. Cries from outside barely enter my conscious. In the quiet and the still, there is only him. His fingers tracing up my cock, and my eyes snap open.

"Please, Sy" I hear his groan, and I resist no longer, moving over him, pushing down onto him, causing both of us to cry out with the shared sensation. I grind and he thrusts, his hips pushing into me with a force that makes me dizzy and I respond in kind, rewarded with his hissed _fuck_.

We are wordless but far from silent, the cries that greet our movements sending tremors through me, adjustments made to find the exact moment that destroys all final hopes of composure. My body trembles with the dual sensation of his cock inside, hitting the spot every time I move, and his hand on me, fist pumping, fingers pressing, thumb swiping over the top. His movements become more rapid, more uncontrolled and wild and I know he is close. I watch his chest heave, his legs shake, and my name fall from his lips with abandon as he comes in me. The feeling of him shuddering through my desperate body tips me over the edge, stars explode behind my eyes, and I release, wave after wave of unbreakable pleasure flooding my senses, occupying my body, fulfilling my soul. There is nothing but him. He has me.

He turns to me, his arms reaching for me with sated smile covering upturned lips. He is irresistible. I return the smile and move happily into his embrace, the look on his face when I lay on top of him still occupying my mind. I asked my dad once how he knew that he was in love with my mum. I didn't mean anything much by it, I was just a kid who still thought that his dad knew everything. When he told me, _he just knew_ ,I felt disappointed and confused. I thought he must be holding back on me, what kind of answer was that? I was expecting something like the _Five Ways to Know You're In Love_ quiz in Shabnam's magazines. I didn't ask again.

"Syed?" I move my head up to face Christian, his smile now replaced with serious intent. "Thank you. For earlier, and for coming round tonight. I mean it, you really are amazing. It means a lot to me."

My cheeks redden under his scrutiny. "It's nothing." I lie, but then unexpected honesty emerges from me. "I'd have come round regardless."

"You cheeky sod" he laughs and I relish the sound. But I have to tell him that tonight is the last time, that I have to restore my last remnants of self-control.

"Christian, I do have to tell you something." He looks at me, and I pause.


	4. Chapter 4

**Christian's POV**

I wait and my breathing settles back to normal, my heartbeat cals, the sweat on my body cools. Syed moves up the bed and falls with his head on the pillow beside me and his arm slumped over my chest. I breath in his scent as it wafts over me and I grin. A massive cheek-aching grin and I bite my lip to stop from laughing with joy. I thought happily about this evening. It hadn't gone exactly to plan, something about the best laid plans and all that, but the end result had been pretty fucking spectacular none the less. In fact it was better somehow. I'd wanted to make it about me and Syed, to take us away from the shitty world outside and make everything else just vanish. And it had, it really really had.

I've done the whole dress up-candlelight-music-seduction thing before, but never before have I had anyone just walk in and catch me off-guard, and then somehow make it feel like it was supposed to be that way. But that's Syed all over I guess. I make plans, I expect things to follow the way they always do, they way they always have, but he has this way of letting himself in, finding me unawares, unprepared, half-dressed and totally his. I wanted it to be about me and Syed and it was, because he made it so. And fuck, how is it that every time he comes to my bed he manages to make it feel like something new, make me feel like everything else had just been preparation for this moment.

God, the way he looked, on top of me, his hair a dishevelled mess, falling into his eyes and begging for my fingers to smooth it back. His body, all golden tones lit by the soft flickers of candlelight, lithe, smooth and strong, held up on display for my pleasure and delight. And I shut my eyes with remembered bliss, as I think of the way he looked when he came, his eyes darkening to pure black, his muscles tensing, back arching and body shaking as pleasure courses through him. The way he looks afterwards, so fucking happy and free and content. Nothing in his mind except for the joy he feels and the joy he has given me. The first time I ever saw him like that it took my breath away. I felt like I was seeing the real Syed Masood, the real man behind all the masks and disguises he has to put on outside. After that I knew I couldn't just let him go and forget about it. I chased and chased, needing to see that look again, see _him_ again but the more I chased, the further I got from it, from him. Sometimes, after that first time, I'd steal glances at him in the unit with his parents, in the Vic with Amira, in the square on his own and I'd stare at his unreadable face. I was searching for the Syed I had seen, but I couldn't find him. Only in brief glimpses on our own did I see the hints of the man who had thrown his head back in pleasure and smiled to me in the darkness and secrecy of my embrace. And now, these past few weeks I have seen him again. And not just after sex either, but in the everyday. I have spied that glint of freedom in his eyes arriving in unexpected moments and I tell myself to remember them, cherish them. But the way he looked this evening surpasses even those, a look that is now seared into my mind for all eternity I have no doubt.

And suddenly an unfamiliar pang of something like jealousy hits my stomach with an aching gnaw. I don't _do_ jealousy, never have, life's too short I said. If some bloke gets with the bloke I want then fuck 'em, go out and get someone else. Easy. And once they're with me then why would I worry? Once you've had Christian Clarke, why would you go looking elsewhere? Nah, jealousy just isn't my style. It's just that the thought of someone else seeing Syed like that nearly makes me rethink my whole position. I shudder. But the pang passes when I feel light fingers stroke sleepily up and down my side and I open my eyes again with a grin. Syed is not just here right now, he is going to be here all. night. long. A mixture of lust, excitement and pure unadulterated happiness flood through me and I turn to Syed, my thumb rubbing over his forehead and stroking down behind his ear. His eyes open, lazily, and I relish the satisfied look of contentment that shades his beautiful features, a sight that I fear I will never grow tired of witnessing. He smiles and moves fully into my embrace, head snuggling into my chest, but right now I want to see his eyes, to talk to him.

"Syed?" He moves obliging back up to face me, his eyes dark and wide. "Thank you." I tell him, wanting to make sure he knows what my heart is thinking. "For earlier, and for coming round tonight. I mean it, you really are amazing. It means a lot to me." I see him look awkward under the unexpected praise and it makes my stomach dip just that bit further, that lovely lovely Syed still has no idea just how much I care about him.

"It's nothing. I'd have come round regardless."

"You cheeky sod" I laugh at the sudden candid honesty that comes from him and delight in the tiny smirk I see twitching at the corner of his mouth until he again looks away and composes himself.

"Christian, I do have to tell you something."

I wait. He looks nervous and my heart sinks. He's going to tell me that he has to go home isn't he. I feel my happiness evaporate and my body cool. At this moment I fear I would do anything to keep him in my bed, in my arms, for just a few more hours. This longing that I have to wake up with him, to have his face be my morning greeting, almost overwhelms me. I thought I wanted it badly before but now, now I feel sick at the thought of it being taken from me. I turn away and look at the candles still flickering, their hopeful glimmer mocking my suddenly weary body. Old bruises that I thought were long passed seem now to ache more than ever. I touch a finger to my lip, half expecting to still feel the familiar sensation of congealed blood and foolish hopes.

"It's fine Syed." I lie, somehow trying to make his upcoming confession easier, my heart seeking to ease his discomfort even as I think it might freeze over now for sure. "I understand, you've got to get home-"

"No" His rebuttal is swift and uncharacteristically sharp. "I mean, I don't have to go anywhere. I said the whole night didn't I?" His voice is lighter now, teasing, sweet, uncertain and his fingers work their way to my chin, turning it back to face his hard-to-read eyes. "You do still want me to stay?" he whispers, an anxious tone pervading through the quietness.

"Of course!" I exclaim. _Always_ , I silently and instinctively add, not allowing my mind to focus too heavily on what that might mean. Relieved and embarrassed at the ease in which my desperation alights, I drag my fingers through his dampened tousled locks. "So what then?" I murmur, confident that any other confession is bearable now that I have the security of his presence tonight.

"You see, Ramadan starts at dawn tomorrow." He stops and looks expectantly at me, like he is waiting for an onslaught of puzzled questions. I chuckle lightly.

"Yes Syed, I was aware. I do pay _some_ attention at work y'know." I tease and he blushes slightly.

"I didn't mean.." he hesitates and I let him off.

"Yeah I know. So what is it? Do you have to get up early for breakfast or something? Zainab was going on about it yesterday, while Amira was complaining that it was still the middle of the night. Do you want me to set an alarm?"

"No. Well yes actually, I'll set it in a bit, but you see…" and he trails off again, gulping heavily and looking beyond me as if the words he is reaching for are written somewhere in the kitchen amongst the pasta and the coffee. I don't know what is worrying him but my every fibre is desperate to appease his angst and lessen his fear. I move him further into my arms, fingers running up and down his spine, silently reminding him of my presence, my attention. And it seems to work as I feel his breathing start to calm. His voice continues, the vibrations humming through my body as he speaks. "During Ramadan, there are rules. We can't…I mean _I_ can't…I can't do _this_." And he pulls away from our embrace, glancing at our now entangled limbs with a flush deepening over his perfect features. I bit my lip to try to prevent the smile that tugs at the edges of my mouth. So that was what was worrying him, and I admit that my relieved happiness is laced with a slight touch of selfish, guilty pride. Pride that the guy who insisted that he wanted me never to touch him again, that claimed he could happily live without my touch, is now looking so upset at the prospect of a month's enforced absence from my bed. But I wish that was all it is, there is something else behind his eyes, something else that I am again cut off from.

Realisation hits me like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath from my lungs and the smile from my face. He thinks I won't be interested in him anymore, that taking away his beautiful body will take away my interest. For a second I wonder how he could think that. And then like a flash I see visions of me, the man I am supposed to be, always flirting and fucking and fleeing, always hunting and searching for the thrill that my body itched after. Hanging around for a month, without any chance of sex, hardly bloody likely. It's just not me. And wasn't one of the things I was trying to do tonight was to shake off this fear, this isolation and get back to me? Yeah. But not like that. I want to feel free again, feel like me, feel the familiar boost of having wanting eyes lingering on me. It's just that I want those eyes to be dark, deep and intense, and I don't just want to see them widen with lust, but also to glow with joy, to soften with care. I want one pair of eyes only and no other imitators can hope to compare. All I know is that right now I would willingly lose the sweetness of his kiss as long as I got to see his lips curve into a glorious smile, the loss of his lust filled cries would be bearable as long as I got to hear him break into a carefree laugh and while my body would crave for the heat of his perfect skin pressed against mine, I would find comfort in sharing a sofa, sharing memories, hopes and dreams. I curl a lock of Syed's hair around my finger and press a kiss into his scalp, shutting my eyes as I breath in his scent.

"A whole month? Ah well, guess we'll have to make the most of tonight then eh?"

Syed jerks away from me, swivelling his body till we are face on, allowing me full view of his confused expression.

"But…I thought you'd…" he trails off but holds my gaze, and I did I just see a flicker of hope in his eyes?

"I can cope y'know, I'm not quite as sex-obsessed as you seem to think." I retort, teasing him with a mock pout. His only reply, a raised eyebrow and glance down my body, stops my pout and I laugh instead, pulling him nearer into my renewed body until he is only a breath away and my voice lowers. "Of course there is nothing I would like more than to spend all month shagging you senseless, but I like spending time with you Sy. I like _you_. A lot." I halt, nerves momentarily jangling. A breath. A pause. His eyes finally lower away from mine and in a hushed undertone so quiet I fear it may only be the sound of my wishful imagination, I hear his whispered confession, _me too_.I flip us over, resting on my forearms above his face and grin. "We've got all night remember? So tell me," I continue, pausing only to deliver glancing kisses onto his forehead and down the curve of his cheek, ignoring the way he turns his face in desperate attempts to capture my lips with his kiss-bruised own. "What would you like to do tonight?" My words are punctuated with kisses, soft and tender one moment, teeth scraping the next, catching him off guard, unravelling both of us. "What were you thinking about when you rushed over here, what made you want to get here so so fast, eh? Tell me Sy, what is that you want, _really_ want right now?"

And as I reach to lick the spot at the back of his neck that makes his body collapse into me, he gasps his reply.


	5. Chapter 5

**Christian's POV**

"Shower with me." His words come tumbling out in a rush, like this is all he has been thinking about.

"Mmmmm…..you want a shower with me eh Sy?"

He looks up at me from heavy-lidded eyes, flickers of lust calling to my body in the sure knowledge that it will respond appropriately. "Yeah, I do." And I nearly want to cry with happiness at the clear statement of his desire. I move up off his body and roll to the side, pulling the covers with me and pausing to drink in the delights of his body now left on display.

"Go on then," I nudge him with my elbow, and undo the watch from round his wrist, placing it carefully on the side of the bed by my own. "You get going, I'll be along in just a sec." He lays a gentle, lingering kiss onto my lips then follows my orders, glancing over his shoulder as he reaches the bathroom door and blushing slightly at the attentions of my lascivious eyes.

I wait, lying back in the bed, listening and thinking. Listening as the familiar sounds from outside drift into the flat, the catcalls of girls on a night out, the squeal of car tyres pulling away, the cries and shouts from the chippy's customers, the clink of bottles in drinker's hands as the evening's revelry continues for all those who come alive after night. I listen and I smile in recognition of hundreds of nights past, thinking of the excitement of entering a club, not knowing what the night will bring, or who you'll be going home with. But my smile falls when I hear the smash of a bottle on the kerb and I jump. I turn my head back into the pillow in despair, wondering if I'll ever be part of that again, if I can face the excitement of anticipation without that sudden overwhelming fear invading my body. I try to visualise me going out, drinking, partying, pulling… realising with a sharp pang that the only person I want to take home is Syed. Visions of me on a wild night out, but then coming home to Sy in my bed catch me off-guard, as a sudden longing nearly takes my breath away. A cynical and bitter voice in my head wonders which part of that dream is the least likely, but as I think of Syed as he has been tonight, coming to me, offering himself to me, in ways I have dreamt of so frequently in the past couple of months, my smile returns. The revellers outside are forgotten, the darkness of my terrors return to the recesses of my mind, as right now all I can think of is the man in my flat.

I smile, and I smile wider as I concentrate on the sounds inside. A tap turning, the hiss of water, the steady pounding of drops on ceramic, and then interrupted as a body arrives under its path. I absorb the sounds while my mind happily completes the pictures. I wait, savouring the delicious taste of anticipation as it mingles with my ever present desire. I wait and listen and think until I can take it no longer, blow out the candles, and as the smoke wafts to the ceiling, I rise from the bed and take the brief few paces to the bathroom.

The sight nearly takes my breath away. Syed standing, eyes shut, head tilted back, his hands pushing back his hair as the water flows freely and rapidly over his body. I can't move, fixated by the vision before me, unable to move my eyes lest I find it is merely a mirage. I watch as rivulets of water stream down tensed muscles, curving their way through his lithe frame before dripping unwillingly away from him. I swallow, with difficulty, and Syed's eyes snap open. We stand, silent but for the constant hum of water, and stare, until finally he breaks the spell.

"Are you planning on joining me any time soon?"

"Just enjoying the view right now." I smile in reply, loving the way his eyes widen with interest, and his body unconsciously leans towards mine. "You see Syed," I continue, with lowered voice as I attempt to cling to some form of composure, "I might need a little something to go on for the next month."

A flash of understanding hits his eyes and a delicious smile edges across his face. Wordlessly, his eyes still fixed on mine, his hand slides oh so slowly down his body while I bite my lip in keen anticipation. He hasn't done this quite so openly before, never been quite so willing to play in this way, to give me this kind of exquisite torture, this tantalising feast for the senses. I watch, mesmerised as a thousand fantasies come to life, his lean fingers stroking himself, the glorious sight of guilt-free pleasure washing over his face while he continues to watch only me. And it is this, maybe even more than the lust inducing vision in front of me, that really causes my soul to rejoice. The sight of Syed so comfortable, so free, is one that I treasure for both its gorgeous beauty and tragic rarity. When he loses himself like this, forgetting to remember all that he thinks he should be, it is like I am being given a glimpse into another world and I crave it, for him, for me, for us. His happiness and desire is intoxicating and my eyes are trapped.

I watch, until I hear a sweet moan, _Christian_ , and I can't take it any more, moving swiftly into the shower, and slamming his wet body into the wall, his head held in my firm grip and my tongue plundering his warm, welcoming mouth. But he quickly recovers, and pushes right back at me, forcing our bodies together under the steady stream of rushing water, driving a startled gasp from my lungs at the sudden sensation of hot water pounding on my simmering flesh. His hands are no longer searching solely for his individual gratification but are grabbing at me, one set of blunt nailed fingers gripping my scalp while the other reaches and searches and grabs at my now soaking skin. Our bodies, slippery with water, precum and shower gel and desperate with desire, glide helplessly against each other, while our hands and arms work frantically to maintain some balance and some much needed friction. Our kisses are electrifying, tongues caressing as fingers plead. I feel dizzy and light-headed from the steam and the heat and the frenzied, oxygen depriving kiss, but any breath I take is glancing as my mouth craves more of his addictive savour and refuses to surrender. Our tongues combine and the taste of his food and our sweat and my alcohol and that glorious bittersweet tang of _him_ mingle as water falls in open mouthed kisses. We can barely see through the mist and the water but there is little need for sight when bodies are allowed to follow their craven desires, and so our hands find each other and with fingers tightly entwined around throbbing wet cocks we grind together in glorious decadent delight. Hips thrusting, tongues invading, fingers vibrating, mouths groaning, legs weakening, fists tightening, water streaming and pounding and drenching heated bodies that grip and shake and shudder as waves of pure pleasure overtake all conscious thoughts and actions.

We slump together against the tiled wall, our bodies still held together by an embrace that we see no reason to break. Syed's head tilts to the side as he gulps for breath away from the water. I lower mine to do the same, distracted by the expanse of alluring neck and shoulder situated tantalisingly close to my gasping lips. We listen to the water dripping onto our cooling bodies, pooling around our feet and gurgling away. My finger follows the water drops down Syed's neck, lightly tracing a path along his collarbone then down the hollow of his neck and over his chest. He shudders slightly at my touch and I move my hand to graze instead over his kiss swollen lips.

"So," I murmur, lowly, darkly, knowing that his aching body is still vibrating with the afterglow of our passion. "Was that the sort of thing you were after?"

"Mmmmm, yeah, near enough." He deadpans, although the shake in his voice betrays his contrived composure. And when nimble fingers tickle at toned stomach muscles, he gives in completely and laughs. "Ooof, stop that, alright. It was…"and he pauses before continuing softly, " _amazing_."

"Yeah, you are." I grin, turning off the water and pulling him out of the shower with me. Grabbing a couple of towels from behind me I start ruffling his hair, fighting off his half-hearted attempts at defence and, unable to resist, I place a few kisses on his face as I do so. "C'mon you, back to bed." I whisper licentiously in his ear.

He tuts and shakes his head a me but I can see the glimpses of mischief in his eyes. "Honestly Christian Clarke, you are insatiable."

"Well can you blame me?" I retort and then with a swipe of my rolled up towel at his delicious arse, I smirk. "Actually I was meaning we should go to sleep, as you need to wake up so early. But it seems _your_ mind, Syed Masood, is irretrievably in the gutter."

He blushes hotly but makes no attempt to deny it, and a quick glance at his body does little to contradict my claim. I refuse to hold back my grin and merely pull him back into the bed with me, feeling the sweetness of contentment take over my weary flesh.


	6. Chapter 6

**Syed's POV**

We settle back in bed, our still half damp bodies dripping onto the sheet below, while the cool night air sneaks in through the window and chills my exposed flesh, sending shivers down my spine.

"You chilly Sy?" Christian notices of course, as if my body can make any movement without him realising. I nod and he pulls me closer to him, his arms tightening around me and the duvet pulled higher over our entwined bodies. "Better?" he asks.

"Much." I grin, having no words to describe just how much better it is to feel my body warm from the proximity of his heated flesh, and better still, to know that this warmth will be present all night, that I will not have to face the cold solitude of the night for a while longer.

We lie, wrapped in each other like this, our breathing as synchronised as the hands ticking quietly on our watches by the bedside. I notice how they look, resting side by side and then pretend I haven't. Outside there are people coming home from nights out, their voices carrying across the clear night sky, laughing, arguing, singing, flirting. I feel like we are floating above the day to day existence of others in the world. We can hear their indiscreet uncensored voices, but our very presence is a mystery to them, and even more so our happiness. But just as I feel us drifting further away, our bodies fully relaxing into each other and sinking into the mattress below, we are shot down and come falling back to earth. A car backfires and Christian starts. The fear and anxiety that had so far been absent this evening returns with a vengeance. His breathing shallows and his grip around me tightens. I stroke my fingers along his arm and try to calm him, murmuring words into his chest that I hope might help to soothe his distress. Words repeated again and again until their meaning is almost lost, but the sentiment of care and support remains. Slowly I feel him relax again underneath me, his grip becoming a caress, his pain dissipates but to my dismay it is replaced by shame and I don't know how to deal with that.

"Talk to me Syed," he urges, his voice cutting through the still. I start to fill the quiet with talk of the dinner, of the chocolate fountain that I indulged in, smiling at that chuckle that produces from him, but when I accidentally let slip Amira's name I feel his body tense again and I silently curse my stupidity. We do our best not to mention her when we are together, an unwritten rule that attempts to protect and insulate us both. Or maybe just seeks to assuage my guilt.

"Tell me something personal." He tries again and I want to, I really want to, but I don't know what to say, or where to begin, or how to do it at all. He's the best listener I've ever met and it scares me. Words scare me. They are powerful, as soon as you say them out loud they cannot be unsaid but go on and take a life of their own. They are deceptive, they pretend as if they contain the truth but they ignore and hide the undeniable certainties that are laid clear instead in unspoken deeds and feelings. Christian, the one person who is able to read the veracity of my body, the things I show, the things I hide, with such unnerving skill, why does he still need my words? But he does and I owe it to him, and to me, to find a brief window out of the darkness of my awkward reticence and let his ever seeking light shine in. I owe it to him to find a private chink of honesty and put it on display for his eyes only. I owe it to him because he trusts me despite knowing my failings. He trusts me and yet I lied to him this evening, telling him about Ramadan and every time I think about it, my stomach aches. It wasn't the biggest of lies. There have been more and worse to others and to him. This is a small white lie, more just misleading than anything else, for if I force some more unpalatable truths out, I know that it is partly true, I know that it is wrong to do this at all, and to do it in Ramadan would be compounding my sin, but I used my words to misled and shield this truth from him. I have lied to him and it hurts more than I feel it ought. It hurts because it is to him, and because he didn't even begin to doubt me. Other nefarious lies he has seen through in an instant and dismissed almost before the words have fully formed. But this time he didn't see. While I struggle with my guilt and my fear and my desire to be the man he believes in, I hear the steady beat of minutes ticking by and in desperation I turn to him to start instead.

"Okay." He thinks and pauses, biting his lip in concentration, not knowing how my heartbeat finds a new faster rhythm as he does. "I could tell you about the time when I was a kid and I walked in on Jane and some minger from school going at it. God, I didn't know where to look. Or actually I did, that was apparently one of the issues she had with me afterwards. Very off-putting though." He shudders but then grins widely at me. "Still, I guess not everyone can be lucky enough to have some hot guy in their bed." His words send the predictable flush rushing to my cheeks, the usual flip of my stomach and the ever present heat to my groin. "And y'know, you're not too bad yourself."He chuckles lowly and I can't help but laugh, hitting him in the stomach as the only rebuke I can muster. His arms unfold and draw me back closer, nose nuzzling my neck and sweet lips pressing into my skin. "Shall I try again?" He ventures and I nod, wanting nothing more right now than the feel of his words vibrating through my body as we lie together like this. "Right then, something more serious….." He pauses and in the gap that his words leave I hear the sound of my heart beating with fearful anticipation. His voices lowers and he continues. "I don't think I've told you how much I like your hair." He hears my stifled laugh and grabs me even tighter. "Listen, alright, I'm serious. It's really gorgeous. I love the way it curls round your ears and your neck." His fingers lightly trace the path he describes, causing pinpricks of delight to flutter through my body. "And I love the way it feels in my hand." His fingers gently smooth locks out, letting his nails slightly graze my scalp as they do so then twisting the curls back round, before releasing them from his grip. I shut my eyes, shutting out all but the low timbre and steady cadence of his voice that calms my aching body, and the light touches of his deft strokes that sends my blood racing round my veins. "And what I really love about your hair Sy, is that no matter how much you try to tame it, to cut it down to size, force it to behave and look appropriate, you just can't quite manage it. Those wild, untamed secret curls just keep working their way out, forcing their way out to freedom." He voice quietens as he speaks, as the weight of his words becomes lower and heavier in the room before finally drifting off completely, muffled as his head lowers, nuzzling and kissing my scalp.

I struggle to find a much needed element of calm veneer with which to hide behind. I don't have the words for this, I don't know if the words exist for this. But then, with the feel of his heartbeat steadily echoing through my body, unplanned, unthinking words fall unprepared from my mouth, seeking the attentions of his ears.

"I like the way you call me Sy." I halt, lamely but he responds eagerly instead.

"Really? Well that's probably for the best as I'm not sure I could remember to never call you it again, especially when you look like this." His voice lowers in my ear, his warm breath heating my sensitive skin. "It suits you. I mean Syed does too, but right now, when you're lying here with me, you're Sy."

"Maybe that is why no-one has ever really called me it much before." I admit. "At least not anyone I…anyone I was friends with, or cared much about. I never really thought about it before, but it's weird y'know. Mum and Dad always called each other by nicknames and stuff," I ignore Christian's stage whispered _I don't want to know_ , and continue, "and other people call them that too. And I've called Shabnam and Tamwar, Shabs and Tam since, well as long as I can remember, but I was always Syed to them. Maybe it was because I was the oldest or something, I dunno."

"And what did kids at school call you?"

"The usual, Syed, if they were my friends, or y'know, Paki, if they were less than friendly and rather limited in their vocabulary."

"Wankers." Christian hisses, and I bite back the half smile that comes from hearing his immediate protective response.

"Yeah that was pretty much what I called them too. But nope, it was always Syed, at uni, work wherever."

"And Amira?" he asks tentatively, her name returning to disturb the sweetness of us.

"Never." I reply quickly, and his exhalation of relief is felt all through my body. "Although, now I think of it, I think Janine might have called me Sy occasiona-"

" _Janine_?" I laugh at the scandalous tone in his voice. "So you like it because it reminds you of Janine Butcher. I think I'm going off it already."

"Idiot." I punch his side and turn to face him properly for the first time since we lay back down. "I like the way _you_ say it. I mean, well, it's nice." The look in his eyes forces my gaze to move away, seeking safety in the sanctuary of his flat. But his fingers tilt my chin back to him and I find myself enveloped in green depths yet again.

"Sy." A question? A statement? I'm not too sure, but it hangs there, a single word, echoing around the still flat, running through my veins, prickling at my nerves, tingling on my skin.

I stare at him, moving down from his eyes to stop at his perfect mouth that has long now tempted and tantalised me, and I grab him, my tongue relishing the smoothness of his lips, entering his warm mouth and seeking his answering gasp of delight. I move down, letting open mouthed kisses greedily explore the contours of his body as my hands explore the firmness of his muscles. My tongue follows a tantalising path to a now familiar destination, but with familiarity breeds an increase of anticipatory delight. I trace his scent, following his moans, responding to his cries and movements and whispered words. I let the overt actions of my wordless mouth tell him of the secret thoughts that I cannot allow my mind to comprehend. And as I move lower and lower I smile to feel the wanton movement of his hips, thrusting towards me, their intention clear and shameless and oh fuck I want him now. I lick lightly along his length, sensing his body shiver and tremble. I suck softly on his head, feeling his hands grip tightly onto my shoulders. I take him fully in my mouth, hearing his sudden gasp and blissful cry, as I relish the weight and feel of him filling me and his taste overwhelming me. I wanted to taste him as soon as I saw him. It was unlike anything I had felt before, I didn't just fancy him, I wanted to savour every inch of him. He spoke and I wanted to run my tongue round that mouth, lap up every aroma lurking within. He stood in a t-shirt in the Vic and I wanted to bite his arms, find the savoury tang of his flesh and sweat. And then, late at night, under the secrecy of nightfall, when sleep hovered at the edges of my consciousness, and allowed the thoughts that daytime proscribed to wander into my dreams, I thought of _this_ , of other tastes that I wasn't supposed to know of or wonder about or crave. I thought of his strength and boldness, of the attention he received from other eyes, and I longed for it to be my attentions that could make him weak. Now, in another darkened night, under further clandestine shadows, my dreams are writ large and once again prove themselves to be even more rewarding in the act than the imagination. But now that he has so willingly laid himself bare for me, his vulnerability on display for my distressed eyes, now I want to be the one who makes him strong again, for my weakness and my sin to be his source of salvation.

He moans and I move, he cries out and I speed up, he grabs me and I slow. My actions and his responses in an ongoing thrilling cycle of seeking pleasure and delight.

"Look at me," he whispers, his hands moving to my hair, locks entwined tight between fingers, and without pausing in my actions I raise my eyes to him. "You are so fucking beautiful, Sy." Hushed tones continue between pants and gasps of air, "so sweet...so gorgeous...and so...so...beautiful."

I didn't tell him earlier that of all the times he calls me Sy, it is this that causes my heart to skip, the way he whispers his name for me when he comes undone. I didn't tell him that sometimes, during my mundane days, at work, at home, I hear echoes of his voice and have to shut my eyes to stop from falling. Neither did I tell him that his admiring attention to my hair is never more obvious than here, when he grips and caresses and strokes while he cries and shudders his release.

He lies back, his hands soft, smoothing over my head, then urging me up to him, pulling me into a gentle yielding kiss that I wish would never end. But all nights end in dawn, when the bright unforgiving sun forces my nighttime dreams to fade and my shadowy chimeras to vanish. I settle back into his embrace, eyes resolutely ignoring the unfeeling glow of hours and minutes by the side of the bed, wanting to eke out the last precious moments of peace.

"You want anything Sy?" he utters softly, his lips laying butterfly kisses onto my scalp, his arms wrapped round my exhausted body, his hands tenderly, questioning reaching for me. But I shake my head, I just want this. To be with him tonight. His fingers move to play idly with mine as I feel his body ease into rest and that feeling of floating returns. We drift away, the noise of the outside world meaning nothing anymore. A crash, a horn, an angry cry, but this time he does not stir. Eyes shut, I breath in our mixed aromas and we escape.


	7. Chapter 7

**Christian's POV**

My eyes are closed but I do not sleep. I lie, listening to his steady breathing in the darkness, feeling his chest rise and fall under my arm, drifting happily in the limbo between sleep and dreams.

I dreamt of him last night. Last night? Yeah it was only last night, even though it feels as if weeks have passed not barely twenty-four hours. I dreamt he had come to me in my bed, a star, burning brightly as he entered joyfully into my dark night. He lay with me, I could smell him, cumin scents in his neck, almonds in his hair. I could feel him, his warmth wafting over me, the hairs on his arms gently tickling my own. But then with the crash and bang of the shutters dropping downstairs, the nightly occurrence that still forced the stupid, irrational, hated terror to invade my peace, I woke, shaking, sweating, a pathetic man curled up in a ball, a pillow in my arms masquerading as him. I dug my fingers in, buried my head. It smelt not of the earth, of man, of life and longing but of washing powder and cleanliness and loneliness. It had no answering body to respond to me, its feathers did not seek to comfort me or please me or make me smile but lay limp, unresponsive, fearful. I threw it to one side in disgust at its pretence, but then pathetically retrieved it mere minutes later, desperately hoping that it might again cast its deceptive spell and give me a few more moments of imagined bliss.

But that was then and this is now, this is real, and I want to savour every minute of it. I glance at the clock, willing it to stop, to move backwards, to listen to the pleas of my wretched heart and grant us a reprieve, to let us remain for all eternity in our enchanted world. Yet the numbers tick on, heartlessly moving ever forward, rushing towards the dawn and the harsh daylight of reality, and dragging us unwillingly behind like reluctant children. I drag my eyes from the clock and focus on the infinitely more pleasing sight of Syed, lying so peacefully in my arms. I wonder if he always sleeps like this, with such contentment on his face. A guilty part of me admits that I would feel proud if I knew if was my presence that could bring ease to him, but the idea of him not finding peace on his own makes me ache. I stare at him, trying to absorb every inch of him and fix it in my mind for the long nights ahead of me without him. I press a soft soft kiss into his hair, breathing in his scent, filling my senses with him and his lips curve lightly upwards in his sleep. I can give him this at least, this last brief period before the rest of the world interferes. I cover his body with my eyes, I commit him to my mind and shut away the rest. He is here. My eyes fall closed, but his presence remains clear. I hear the sheets move underneath him, I smell his warm scent drifting into the cool air as the duvet moves, I feel his body stretch and roll across, leaving my embrace and settling into the softness of the pillow. I smile. My mouth is dry and aching, I have no desire to leave but I force myself to open my eyes and glance once more at the dreaded clock. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes till the alarm sounds to end our night of treasure and send us hurtling back to harsh reality. I force myself out of bed, grabbing a dressing gown to arm against the chills from my drafty flat, cursing Ian's tightness for his refusal to fix the window and I pad as quietly as possible to the kitchen. This is my life I remind myself, moaning about my brother in law, seeking protection from the coldness of solitude. It's just that….. well recently I have felt what it could be like, how different the same things could feel. But now there is no time for this, I remind myself, there will be plenty of time later to think, when I am stuck in here alone. Far too much time. I fill a glass and quench my thirst, allowing myself to fall into blissful recollections of just how my mouth became so dry, our wanton cries now reverberating around the soundless flat, as if it too cannot bear to forget what we have shared within its four walls.

I head back to bed, already mourning the loss of our shared body heat, but as I reach the edge, I pause. The moonlight shines through the blinds, hitting his body with perfect light and shade. I have often admired the way his skin glows under the warmth of summer sun. Tonight I have relished in the way pinpricks of flickering candlelight could bring him such glimmering radiance. And now, I gaze, awestruck, by the way the cool brilliance of the silvery moon tenderly caresses his supine form and finds new tones and hues for me to worship. I sit down by the bed, letting my eyes soak in his beauty. His hair looks even darker than normal under the dimmed moonlight and I long to run my fingers through it and stroke the silken strands. But I force my hand to remain by my side, not wishing to disturb his final moment of rest. I watch as the light moves across his face, his long lashes casting shadows onto his cheeks. The curve of his body under the sheets, the shape of his arm, his lithe legs, the hollow at his back, the glory of him. I stare at him and listen to the pounding of my heart, listen to the words it beats. _I want us to hug and talk and kiss and listen and fuck and sing and dance and sleep and touch and dream and bitch and argue and cry and forgive and live and love._

And love. A thousand confused thoughts are tumbling into one. Thoughts I had dismissed long ago as not for me, not part of me. Thoughts I had mocked, thoughts I had secretly craved, thoughts I had not dared to think. Thoughts of him that I had never put into words or granted tangible expression to are now crystallised into the clearest thought of all and I wonder that I had not realised it before, that I was staring at the sun but mistook it for the flickering artificial glow of the streetlamps instead. I love him. It is so obvious that I want to laugh, so glorious that I want to dance, so fucking scary that I want to run and hide but I never can. Not anymore. I look at him, this gorgeous, messed-up, sweet-hearted, caring, confused, amazing man and all I can see is the smile on his face that he finds for only me and I love him. There are no flashes of lightening or cymbal crashes. No songs or thunderbolts. But I have never been surer of anything in my entire life. We are on the cusp of dawn and with it will come pain I know. The day brings his family and his faith and his fiancé and my fear and our future and everything that the world has piled up against us, but right now I don't give a fuck. Later I will wonder if the light that shines in his eyes is mirroring the heartfelt light that glows from my own. Later I will doubt if he ever can let himself feel this most glorious of feelings but now is not time for doubt or pain or fear. Now my heart knows only joy as right now the world loves me, the world loves him, the world loves _us_ because I love him and that is all I know or care.

Alarm sounds and he rises, muttering tired words about food. Uncertainly he moves into the kitchen, squinting as he flicks on the too bright light, shaking shaggy locks from sleepy eyes, and I smile.

I love him. And everything else just fades into nothing.

~完~

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from one of my favourite passages in Douglas Coupland's Generation X that felt oddly appropriate to me as soon as I saw the original episode where Syed wakes up at Christian's flat.
> 
> "I wake up and it's maybe 5.30 or so in the morning. The three of us are sprawled on top of the bed where we fell asleep. The dogs snooze on the floor next to the near-dead embers. Outside there is only a hint of light, the breathlessness of oleanders and no cooing of doves. I smell the warm carbon dioxide smell of sleep and enclosure. These creatures here in this room with me – these are the creatures I love and who love me. Together I feel like we are a strange and forbidden garden – I feel so happy I could die. If I could have it thus, I would like this moment to continue forever.
> 
> I go back to sleep."


End file.
